The Queen Beyond The Wall
by Nommy
Summary: Kissed by fire; cast out by her father and exiled to the far north, Eira's life changes with the conception of her bastard son. Being of noble birth means nothing out here & a woman can forge a great destiny in the cold reaches. She mistakenly gets herself roped in to the Great Ranging where the King Beyond the Wall looks to make her his Queen. Jon/OC - eventually. Slight lore AU.
1. To the North Of South

Chapter One

**.*oOo*.**

The litter smoothly made its way along the King's Road, effortlessly like the paddling of a swan through calm waters, it swept past wide-eyed mongrels who all watched captivated, the sprawling splendour of the King's Court as they passed them by. Jaime Lannister rode proudly on a horse that was the colour of honey, his hair too gleamed like polished gold; a knight of the King's own guard, he wore his years lightly; contrasting his sister, the Queen, whose beauty had been slightly spoiled by the mistreatment of her husband, the King.

Eira's green eyes danced as she peeked out from behind the bright curtains of her litter, drinking in the sights of King's Landing. The sun bore heavily down on her delicate eyes, her fair skin had already been burned and her fiery hair lightened by the golden globe's intense rays. A smile curved along her lips; this would be where she made her fortune, where she would forge her name and destiny and it filled her with an intense pleasure. She sat back and enjoyed the jostling of the litter, happy to be nearing their destination and caught a glimpse of Lord Stark, his gruff face moody and stern and his eyes squinting underneath the southern sun; he looked ill-placed among these glittering, jewelled courtiers; like a rag of rough fustian woven into a tapestry of luxurious silk. Eira's eyelids closed, the heat was indeed powerful for northerners such as her and him so she could not blame Lord Eddard's temperament, and she let out a sigh and hoped they would be pulling into King's Landing soon.

She had a mind to see the Iron Throne. How fascinating a throne it was; forged by the flames of dragons and polished by the rumps of the greatest, maddest and most treacherous men of the Seven Kingdoms. Its history was long and storied, stewed in blood and garnished with a good measure of glory and grief, Eira was always interested in the very best, so naturally she would be captivated by a king's chair. Now was the hour of her fortune, her star was on the ascent and soon she would be known to everybody who lived. She would be praised for her cutting-edge fashion sense and good looks, like that of Lord Renly. Honoured for the many sons she bore whoever her husband may be; a Tyrell, a Lannister or maybe a cousin from the Eyrie. She knew not but was so gladdened to be away from the grim, humdrum of the north she could have squealed in delight.

Except she was not.

No, indeed she was not. Instead, the daughter of the esteemed Lord Medger Cerwyn was being cast aside by her oh-so esteemed said father; off to the even _more-so_ esteemed hovel that was Mole's Town, north of anywhere she may have wished with all her soul to be and not a ten minute hike from the Wall where the valiant men of the Night's Watch froze their arses off day in and day out. Instead of her, her witless brother, Cley was accompanying Lord Stark down to King's Landing so the Lord of Winterfell could be ennobled as the King's own Hand.

Eira sighed deeply, shivering on her steady palfrey which was the colour of snow after a rain, grey and listless just like the north as a whole. There was no vibrancy to be found north of the Twins; and anybody who was anybody who _had_ brightened up the confounded place was heading south. Now, with only a manservant and an irritable septa; Eira found herself wishing for death on their cold journey towards the end of the world. Well, near enough, the Wall was actually the end of the Earth; for what was there beyond it? Eira knew not and she did not much care; all she had a mind for was her own foolishness, her thoughts always returning to the splendour and lavishness she was denied because of her father's own integrity...and her own lack of for that matter.

Her thoughts again returned to the child that sat beneath her heart; all her father's plans for her were tossed to the winds, replaced with a hurried scheme, he licked his dry lips and ruled; leave and do not return.

A steep price and one which Eira could understand, but was at a loath to pay. So on the day of the King's arrival to Winterfell she had to watch her father and brother gallop off and leave her behind. Within half a day of their departure a man from the Night's Watch had came to their home, seeking refuge for the night. Within a night and half a day, a raven from her father; go from our home, take whatever coin needed but do not be there when I return for you shame us all. There was no sentiment, no joy or sadness in his words but an explanation for why and one which, again, Eira understood and so; she packed her belongings, taking only what she needed, gold, clothes and a looking glass which had belonged to her dear mother and met Septa Brynhild – a stubborn old battleaxe – outside in the courtyard, hiring the man from the Watch to escort them to Mole's Town, and they were off. Not a glamorous living, Eira thought she'd be living in Mole's Town; she had only ever heard rumours of the place and all of them rather...sordid.

Their journey was slow-moving and dull; the constant drone of Septa Brynhild's voice was like the buzz of an old bee; moan, scold, complain and sniff. She took an immediate dislike to their escort, a man named Yoren; her proud eagle's nose was always curled whenever he came near, her weather beaten old leather crinkling between her brows whenever he spoke. Also, Eira was assured every mile of their nine day journey that she had brought all of this upon herself,

"Well, you ruined it, young miss."

Eira agreed.

"If you had only the sense to keep that mouth and those legs shut – you'd be married off to one of the Lannisters by now! Raising legitimate children and running your husband's household."

The girl nodded, concurring with the old bat's words and hearing Yoren's hearty chuckle for the recycled reprimand which had been rapped across the young woman's knuckles on more than one occasion during their journey. Eira pulled her purple cloak closer and her heart sank; was this all she really had now? The clothes on her back, the coin in her pocket and the child in her belly?

Yes, it most certainly seemed so.

**.*oOo*.**

"How long have you been in the Night's Watch, Master Yoren?"

Eira asked quietly over the crackling fire; the Septa Brynhild was sleeping soundly in her tent; her snuffling snores had been loud enough to make Yoren's brow furrow and make Eira smother a giggle. The black-clad man peered over at her from his chore; running a whet stone down the tang of his battered, well-used blade.

"Nearing two decades, miss."

He answered shortly and added, "Not my choice but it's better than getting your hands lopped off."

"I take it you committed some crime, then?" Eira asked smartly and the man chuckled, "Aye – you could say that."

"What was your crime if you don't mind my asking?"

"Murder." His answer was swift, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Eira and he smiled, his rugged face creasing everywhere; "Don't worry, miss. I'm not about to slit your throat and steal your coin."

"I should hope not," Eira said stoutly, "You're getting paid rather handsomely to take me to Mole's Town."

His bark of laughter was hushed when the septa's snore became drawn out and loud; Eira's eyes watched her for a few moments before they returned to the black brother, her fair brow was quirked as Yoren nodded,

"You'll be safe enough in Mole's Town – it has good folk. Small, but good." Eira bobbed her head dourly,

"_Not my choice_ – but it is better than being whipped at the arse of a cart by your father."

"Aye, I get that." He quipped; his eyes peered down instantly to her belly as the girl wriggled under her fur mantle,

"You also understand that if any of your brothers on the Wall ask about the coin..."

The man held up a hand and ducked his head, "The coin'll be getting spent in Mole's Town anyway, miss."

Eira's brow puckered in a frown and the man said with a wicked glint in his dull eyes,

"I'm stopping off there to _dig for treasure_."

A moment passed were Eira was uncomprehending, then like a pail of water had just been sloshed over her head she blushed and grinned, clearing her throat she responded rather reserved,

"I'll not enquire as to the nature of your treasure, I'm sure you'll find enough to keep you satisfied and have enough gold there to acquire enough ale to make the search easier and your silence more resolute."

Yoren's face was crinkled in a grin at her words and he nodded and said very solemnly, "I couldn't have put it better myself, my lord commander has a way with words not unlike yourself." Eira's interest piqued, she asked,

"Who is your leader?"

"Jeor Mormont," Yoren said and Eira frowned, mouth downturned she shook her head, "I do not know of him."

"He's a good man, bigger than most; he's a bloody bear but he keeps things in order."

"And what do you do?"

The man's attention was back on his blade and he answered vaguely and absently, "Me? I pluck the riffraff from the dungeons all over Westeros and haul their carcases back north. Next time I head out, I'll be goin' south to fetch the letches, rapers, robbers and urchins from King's Landing."

"So you're a recruiter? What about Ned Stark's brother? What does he do?" She asked, her voice trembled on a shiver. "Benjen?" Yoren said and she nodded, "He's First Ranger. Goes out beyond the Wall scouting for wildlings and things like that; usually he's out there for a good month or two, he'll be headin' back once the King sets out south."

"My father told me of one of your men who was beheaded by Lord Stark," Eira said and Yoren looked at her;

"Aye. Young Will. He was a good lad, had a good eye for tracking, he was a Ranger too – like Benjen." The man sighed deeply and placed his sword aside, leaning back; he looked like a man who was for all intents and purposes, settling down for sleep, "But he deserted, that's a crime and crime is punished by death."

Eira shuddered at the heaviness in his tone as he added darkly,

"If you're _already in_ the Watch."

They set out the next morning after a simple breakfast of bread and cheese, washed down with some ale – which Septa Brynhild obviously chastised Eira for. Ignoring the stout woman, Eira pointed out that she was only in her first month and that a little cup of ale to take the edge off the morning was not going to kill her. The septa huffed and puffed out her bosom and denounced Eira to the Hells and mentioned that she would pray for Eira's sinful soul; this incited a sharp cackle of laughter from Yoren as he helped the portly septa onto her pudgy pony while Eira nimbly swung herself up onto the saddle of her palfrey.

"Enough bellyaching, girls. Let's head out."

Eira had never once been this far north before and the chill which clung to the very air hurt her lungs; Yoren noticed her laboured breath and informed her that it was better to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, "The air hurts your throat, miss." Taking his advice, Eira did as he said and her throat did not ache as much. Their progress was slow and lumbering, mostly due to Septa Brynhild's pace; Eira found she resented the old woman's slow moving march but knew she'd need her before the end so she let it slide – grudgingly. The septa's voice carried however, and no matter how far she fell behind Yoren and Eira she still managed to squawk out questions for Eira to answer,

"Just because you've forwent your soul does _not_ give you leave to be a fool, Eira! Well, any more a fool than you already are that is; now, who built the Wall?"

Eira's green eyes rolled at the septa's easily inflamed temper; Yoren grinned as he caught her doing so, his mirth only deepening as Eira replied blandly; "Brandon the Builder..."

"How tall?!" Septa Brynhild snapped irritably.

"Seven hundred feet." Eira droned.

It went on like that for several days; the further north they got, the more northern-themed the septa's questions became, she had Eira rattle off all the names of the castles which lined the Wall, how long was the Wall and how long had the Night's Watch been active; Eira managed to answer the septa's questions with relative ease, apart from the names of all the castles; Yoren had to whisper a few to her.

One of the many advantages of the range the septa was barking these questions at Eira.

Finally after what seemed like an age of dull travelling and even duller sights; Eira's breath caught on a sharp gasp as her eyes roved over a sight which almost..._almost_ made the travel worth it; the Wall was the most breath taking sight she had ever had the privilege to see. The sheer mass of the structure awed and terrified her; Septa Brynhild was actually _silenced_ upon witnessing it whilst Yoren could only peer from the gaping women back to the Wall and wait for their stunned silence to play out.

"Welcome to the Gift. Mole's Town isn't far from here now; we should be there for sundown."

"Very well, crow; lead on." Septa Brynhild ordered and Eira threw him an apologetic look.

Their party pressed on at a surprisingly good pace but Eira was not looking forward to seeing her new home, in fact; now that they were upon Mole's Town she was beginning to grow homesick; this was where she'd play out the rest of her days; a shanty town nestled down beneath the shadow of the Wall. Panic struck the girl as she eyed the town, "_This_..." She began disbelievingly,

"...Is Mole's Town?"

Yoren let out a laugh, "No, miss. its bigger'n what it seems; here, let me get y' down."

He helped her down and she got her bearings shakily as Septa Brynhild joined her side, the septa was considerably shorter than the redheaded girl; "What shall we do with the horses, I see no stables?" The septa queried and Yoren nodded, gathering up all three of the beast's reigns,

"Follow me, you'll see."

They followed the man silently frozen; Eira couldn't wait for their journey to be at an end so she could fall into bed and sleep away her sadness, she was so absorbed in her thoughts she didn't even notice that Yoren had led them downwards into the bowels of the earth. She gasped, blinking in the perpetual darkness she would need to get accustomed to for the rest of her days.

So this was why it was named Mole's Town. Fitting.


	2. Mole's Town

Chapter Two

**.*oOo*.**

Mole's Town lived up to its name and even worse still; the rumours. Situated beneath the Wall, Eira could not quite comprehend a town underneath the ground, but she was _here_ standing amidst small-time traders, grubby looking women wrapped up in rough wool clothing, every face was hard and stony; the cold above was biting but here it was toasty but the air hung heavily with the sour smell of, what was that? Yeast? Eira curled her nose and turned to Septa Brynhild, who for the first time, gave the girl a small smile which told Eira 'courage' looking away from the septa, Eira took a deep breath and followed Yoren further into the pit of dissolution. The town's main source of light, Eira saw, was candles; thousands of candles all jammed into the frozen, mossy earth the dim radiance flickering and reflecting off of the gleaming rivers of ice which snaked through the earth like glittering membranes. Her eyes trailed the walls, roots all converged and twisted, some dead and some not although where they were growing from and to what ends, Eira had no idea, maybe they came from the trees which lay behind the Wall?

The stink of sweat and the nauseating heat from lots of bodies pressed up against one another threatened to make Eira retch; her hand came up to cover her belly, absently protective of the process which was going on inside her body. Yoren glanced back to make sure she and the septa were still behind him, the young woman's pack hung from his shoulder – which he had most courteously offered to carry for her, given her condition.

The man of the Night's Watch was well known throughout Mole's Town it was discovered, Eira watched curiously as the crow nodded curtly and slapped shoulders of passing men good naturedly, promising a round of drinks here and a hushed whisper to a wench there. Eira cocked an eyebrow grandly, so much for the Night's Watch and their oaths of celibacy and chasteness. Although, Eira believed it was a naive fool who thought that these men were pure; one only had to look at the ebony-clad men who littered Mole's Town, with their scarred faces and crooked smiles, their boisterous cackles and scratchy beards which dripped with ale and rum to know that only the very honourable or the very rigid embraced their oaths fully.

Warm flesh was enticing. Too thought provoking on a cold night up on the Wall and why limit one's self to shivering up in the high places with one's hand down their trousers when they could burrow underneath the ground and find some solace; 'digging for treasure' as Yoren so movingly put it.

Gods, I'm cursed. Eira thought as she stepped past a particularly cheerful portly man who was slogging ale happily, his cheeks rosy like crab apples and his greying hair matted; Yoren beamed at the man and came to a halt before he guffawed pleasantly;

"Lynnus! It's good to see you, man!" Yoren crowed and strode over to him.

The man, Lynnus, beamed right back and threw open his arms; slopping ale over a squealing, dark-haired woman who also smiled at Yoren's approach. Eira hung back with Septa Brynhild, watching carefully.

"Yoren! God's Bones! It's been too long! What brings you here? Will you have an ale with me?"

The man from the Night's Watch nodded his head as he clasped hands with the animated gentleman, "Aye as soon as I've done a bit of business." He jerked his head back towards Eira and Septa Brynhild and Eira saw Lynnus's foggy eyes rest on her, taking in her fiery hair, slim waist and pretty features; his face cracked into a cheeky grin and Eira felt a shudder; Yoren was quick to allay the assumption, "This lady is looking for a place to stay, I'm only an _escort_."

"Oho," Lynnus's jolly chuckle resounded and he stood straighter with a gulp and smashed his tankard down on a table; it was quickly refilled by the smiling maidens. Eira noticed then that the man was dressed wholly in black and had that same ruggedness which Yoren possessed; she gaped slightly, surely this was not a man of the Watch? Every man of the Night's Watch she had encountered, save for Yoren had been terribly dour and sombre; all she really had to go on however was Benjen Stark and the odd recruiter who had sought sanctuary at her father's hall, welcome as they all were in his home.

"Well, miss," Lynnus said, straightening his jerkin, sobering slightly; "My name is Lynnus of the Night's Watch – I am the charge of Mole's Town and I must ask what your business is here." Eira frowned and was about to answer when Septa Brynhild stepped forward and said very carefully,

"This girl is my assistant. It is I who is looking for a place to stay."

"A septa? Here in Mole's Town?" Lynnus pondered incredulous in a slurred voice, a groove between his brows. The septa nodded, "Yes."

"And what do you need assistance with, sister?"

Eira caught Yoren's sharp searching gaze and shrugged softly, raising her eyebrows; she had no idea why the septa was spinning this farce and turned to listen as the septa explained, spreading her hands, she offered pleasantly, "I am not as young as I used to be and I need a strong girl to fetch and carry. I am a herbalist; she is here primarily to collect the ingredients which I cannot."

Lynnus nodded. That was believable and she added,

"She is also a wilful whore who has forsaken her soul and family, she looks to repent for her sins against the Old Gods and find peace here at the end of the Earth."

Yoren's face was grim as he averted his gaze from Eira at that; the girl stood rigid and unfazed, of course she had always helped the septa mix her concoctions and she was rather good at it herself - but this was the first she'd heard of collecting ingredients. Her father had even wondered if she might one day become a septa, be converted into a wandering herbalist, help the needy; but with the swell of a bastard in her belly she could not even do that, nor would any man of any House have her.

It was a flawless lie, one which protected her father's name and House and concealed her identity well, for who cared overly much who the mother of a bastard was? Also, who would question a humble septa, one of the sisters of the Seven? Certainly not Lynnus who bobbed his head and extended his hand,

"This way, sister; we will find you and your assistant accommodation. Welcome to Mole's Town."

With that, they followed Lynnus through the ruckus town and further into the depths, into quieter reaches. Yoren sidled up against Eira, her pack still slung over his shoulder, "I don't abide lying to Lynnus, girl. But I understand why she did. You did not know?" Eira shook her head, tactfully keeping her eyes straight,

"No. I did not. I assumed she was only accompanying me out of concern for my _soul_."

Yoren stifled a laugh, for the gravity of the girl's plight was quite tragic; going from a young Lady of nobility to a penniless mother-to-be with no future was sad indeed. "It seems she may have had more to do with your coming here than you first thought then." Was all he said as he strode onwards, catching up to Lynnus who regaled the crow with tales of the comings and goings which had been occurring in Mole's Town since his last visit.

**.*oOo*.**

Septa Brynhild and Eira were left to their own devices in a quaint little cottage which they shared with another couple who lived in the rooms below them; the septa and the girl pooled a room which was divided by a single muslin curtain which was the colour of violets. Eira peered around the cramped room blandly and checked to her side when Yoren placed her pack down on the floor at her feet, "Well, miss..." He said and Eira nodded and reached inside her cloak but the man held up a hand,

"Actually...no. Consider it my goodwill." Eira frowned after him and reached out,

"No, surely I cannot allow you to leave without payment..." The man shook his head, "I mean it."

"Ser, you are the only man here who knows of my true identity, my father's honour, my House's, therefore I cannot allow you of all people to know that I let you walk out of this room without receiving some sort of recompense for your services."

Septa Brynhild watched the interplay with sharp eyes, her hands buried inside the sleeves of her dowdy habit. Yoren smiled his crooked, wrinkle inducing smile and shook his head again, "Aye, but I was heading back this way anyway. Save that gold for you and your child, girl. Living this far north is hard enough without you throwing gold at crows. Lynnus owes me a few Dragons besides." He assured her kindly and Eira felt gratitude swell in her heart and she smiled warmly at the crow; placing a hand on his arm gently she bowed her head,

"Thank you for your kindness, Yoren. I will never forget it, ser."

"I'm not a knight, lass." The man said humbly, ducking his head and added with a wry grin;

"There, and now somebody will remember an old Man of the Watch. You take care now, miss."

He left then, leaving Septa Brynhild and Eira alone. The septa lit some candles and motioned for Eira to unpack her things and take the room which was farthest to the back, citing that she'd need the quiet when it came time for her lie in. Eira nodded and set to work; she unpacked all of her clothes which she had saw fit to bring, the silken, satin, wool and fur garments luxurious to the touch but also a hurtful reminder of the life she had left behind.

In silence, Eira stowed her finer clothes underneath her bed and placed the woollen gowns in the chest which sat at the foot of her single chicken feather bed. Lumpy and without ornamentation, Eira pined for her own bed but accepted her lot. It was not so bad in actuality. An optimist would have called their room 'cosy' Eira on the other hand found it rather poky but she was in no position to complain and rested a hand on her tummy, rubbing the swelling flesh; she sighed and went back through to the septa's side and said quietly as the septa was stirring a bubbling pot which was filling the room with mouth watering aromas of stew.

"We need to talk."

The septa looked up with her hard eyes and nodded, "Aye that we do. Come, sit."

Eira took a seat and the septa absently placed a wooden bowl before her and used a rag to protect her hands as she lifted the simmering pot off of the fire and slopped the brothy stew into the girl's bowl. "Eat." She commanded and then added softly, "You must be starved."

Eira was and tucked into the stew like a wildling barbarian. The septa waited courteously until the girl had eaten a good portion before she sat forward, her arms folded under her bosom and her face serious,

"You're not a fool, Eira." She began in her forthright way making Eira peep across at her; the septa took a breath as she beheld the girl before her and went on, "You want to know why I lied to that crow."

"They are called Men of the Watch," Eira stipulated frankly, "You should not call them crows."

The septa chuckled, a rare sound and said, "It doesn't matter; they all lie."

"Yoren didn't." Eira maintained and the septa countered, "No. Not to you, but to someone; he did. In any event, that's not what you want to talk about is it?" Eira shook her head, "Ask me then."

"Why did you lie to Lynnus?"

The septa sighed heavily and poured herself a cup of small ale and said as she pulled the cup away from her thin lips, "There was more than one raven that came the day after your father rode for Winterfell." Eira nodded, "I knew it." The septa's eyes were amused, "I would be surprised if you didn't."

"Your father bid me to go with you to Mole's Town...I had not thought to be here in my twilight years but, well; here we are." Eira's voice took on a bitter edge as she spat quietly, "You did not have to come along."

"What, and let you traipse around the Kingdoms by yourself?" The septa's voice was light and condescending, "I have looked after you since you were nought but a squawking babe, and of course I would follow you and make sure you were safe. Your father ordered me to keep you as such."

"If my father was so concerned for my safety why then did he exile me to the ends of the Earth?"

"You know very well _why_." Septa Brynhild snapped crossly, silencing Eira.

After a moment the septa sighed and said defeated, "Your father still loves you, Eira. You did this to yourself. He was not the cause of your ruin," Her eyes slipped down and rested on Eira's slowly-expanding waistline,

"You brought that upon yourself. I lied to the crow because your father was adamant that no one should know of the bastard which grows in your belly, it is to shame him and his House."

"Well isn't that darling, my child is loved by all accounts." Eira sneered, getting to her feet.

"This isn't about love, Eira! You broke the rules."

"I didn't kill somebody! I didn't steal anything, I-"

"You took into your bed, a man who was not your husband. You let him take your maidenhead without the permission of your father; lay in sin and created a life which will always and forever be known as Snow. No, you aren't a criminal but a lustful woman is as good as, you are not some country maid who can tumble with a stable lad – you were a _Lady_."

Eira's chest was heaving, emotion played strongly in her face and she felt tears hot in her throat.

"It was a mistake..."

"Nevertheless," The septa said staunchly and unsympathetically with a shake of her head,

"Mistakes are not forgiven so lightly in women that which can be forgiven in men and you have chosen to learn this in the hardest manner possible – your father only wished for me to be there to make it a little easier on you...and I would never let you face this road alone, sweet girl."

"I don't care what you do," The girl hissed petulantly, "Go to the Hells for all I care."

And with that she swept herself away behind the curtain which divided them and fell into her bed, weeping silently into her scratchy pillow; she heard the septa mutter sadly before the old woman doused the lights;

"I will pray that neither of us see the Hells for the sins we both committed."


	3. Honourable Crow

**A/N: **Thank you for the follows and reviews, I hope you guys can stomach my paper-thin premise to get Eira up on the Wall, ha-ha. Also, I love Benjen, he's much fun to write. Please enjoy and review, let me know how I'm doing, oh and if anybody has it in their hearts to beta-read for me, well that'd be just golden. Thanks again for following!

* * *

Chapter Three

**.*oOo*.**

Vomiting into the garderobe which she and Septa Brynhild shared, Eira coughed and spluttered; wiping her mouth and chin grimly, she felt the septa pull back a strand of her sweat-soaked hair and click her tongue, "Oh, child. You've many more months of that!" The septa's cackle brought a scowl to Eira's face, her snappy retort was cut off as another surge of sickness hit her in droves and she retched again, clasping her belly and cursing the little monster that grew within. The past twelve or so mornings had been the same, Eira would rise from her lumpy bed with a heavy stomach and then after no more than a few moments she would throw a hand over her mouth and make a bee-line for the privy.

"God's Blood, I hate this..." She gurgled and spat a stray mouthful of vomit into the pan. The septa gave her shoulder a hearty pat and tied her hair back loosely, Eira heard the septa bustle off, mumbling about preparing some food so she could break her fast. "I'm not hungry, Septa. _Really_." Eira managed through gags and the old woman sighed and said slowly,

"You must keep up your strength, Eira. The child in your belly will take more strength than it'll give back. This will seem like _nothing_ whence it's actually here, you'll see."

"I would lie down...I-I feel shaky." Eira coughed and the septa nodded, helping the trembling girl through to her end of the room and lay her down on the bed carefully; the septa's wrinkled face was uncharacteristically shadowed with sympathy and she submerged a rag in cold water and gently pressed it against the girl's feverish brow and asked tenderly, "Is that a little better?"

"Yes, Septa; thank you." Eira nodded, her eyes closed and her eyelids waxy.

Sleep overcame her and she saw no more.

**.*oOo*.**

"I have some news,"

The septa said as she came in through the door; Eira had been sewing a little jerkin for her soon-to-be-born child, neutral in colour; it was a ghastly shade of lemon. Eira did not care for it and balked when the septa had produced the bolt of cloth to sew with. The red-headed girl had sworn to the Old Gods and New that she would not use it, but it seemed boredom had sank its damnable claws in deep enough to prompt the girl to sew. Eira _hated_ sewing. Looking up, she placed the half-made garment aside and watched as the septa sat down with a very heavy sigh, her dull blue eyes were sad and Eira sat straighter, worry niggling her brain;

"First; the King rode for King's Landing yesterday and second; there seems to have been trouble at Winterfell."

"Trouble?" The girl whispered and the septa bobbed her wimpled head, "Yes...One of the Stark boys had an accident...The second-born had a fall from one of the old towers. He's been abed for the past two weeks."

Eira covered her mouth, her green eyes widened in shock. Oh, poor Lady Catelyn she thought and eyed Septa Brynhild, whose eyes were watching her closely as the girl's hand came up to absently rub her own swelling belly. "Is...Is Bran alright? Did you hear anything else? Has the King made Lord Eddard Hand yet?"

"Aye. Word coming south is that Lord Eddard accepted."

"My father said he didn't have much choice..." Eira commented and Septa Brynhild glared at her hard, "The King is King and the last Hand was like a father to both Lord Stark and King Robert – it's only natural that the King would appoint Lord Stark." Silently, Eira nodded and picked up her sewing; she ignored the septa as she produced from her little herbalist's pack some wolfs bane and mutton fat.

"Bran's third-born, by the way." Eira added quietly and she heard the septa's movements halt. Eira peered up, meeting the septa's steely eyes; "Ned Stark has a _bastard_ too."

"Yes," The septa agreed cagily before denouncing coldly, "And he carries his sin less lightly than you."

"Not _literally_."

Eira pointed out wryly and she had to hold back a grin as the septa turned up her nose. She thought that if the septa had more of a sense of humour the old woman might have laughed, instead she busied herself muttering about the eternal damnation of Eira's soul by the Mother. Once her back was turned; Eira smiled wickedly.

Life in Mole's Town was quiet and boring; well, _quiet_ was not really the word. Eira could hear the festivities from the tavern which was just down the lane; the Men of the Watch seemed to be the only source of trade for the merchants of the small underground town; Eira had seen more crows here than anywhere else in her whole life. She noted with a pang of gloom that Yoren had returned to the Wall according to her new landlord, Lynnus. Eira would miss the gruff man's quips; living with Septa Brynhild was more than dull. It was downright tedious. The septa had the girl sew half a dozen little gowns for her unborn child; all in subtle, pale hues of baby blue, white and lemon.

Damn that lemon-coloured silk.

Eira's breasts pained her and made her wriggle in discomfort; so much so that Septa Brynhild made her a drought of milk of the poppy to stop her from grimacing every time she moved. The doses made Eira drowsy and the septa kept an eye on her to make sure she did not ingest too much. Eira filled her boring days with sewing, vomiting, mixing and reading while Septa Brynhild kept the place clean and tidy and prepared all the meals.

After two weeks of sleep-inducing tedium, Eira announced that she was going to go and check on their horses and make sure they were well cared for and not getting fat. Septa Brynhild's brow knotted at the idea and her mouth was set like a trap in her anxiousness; would Eira not wait until she was a little stronger? No. Could she be persuaded to not go? No.

"Very well then, but do not be too long and keep to the well-trod areas. Mole's Town is dark enough without you wandering off down some off-beaten track and getting yourself in trouble."

"Shall do, Septa." Eira replied lightly and wrapped her fur mantle around her shoulders and departed.

Eira had no idea what the time was to be honest but it must have been quite early; the big-busted wenches from the whorehouse were stalking bow-legged from the brothel to the alehouse, Eira watched them for a moment curiously, some of them still had men dangling from their shoulders guffawing and cracking jokes with them and they laughed prettily. Outside the tavern a portly woman was sweeping up the broken glass from the night before and beside her a slight girl – whom, Eira assumed was her assistant – was scattering fresh sand over some blood which must have been spilled in a brawl.

It took Eira all her self-restraint to not gag at the sight of the blood or the smell of it for that matter and she turned down a narrow lane which fed into the little merchant's market and to her dismay it was packed tighter than a net full of fish – and smelled just as bad. She held her breath as she gently minced her way past traders, whores, Men of the Watch and general travellers; her breath caught in her throat when she felt a hand grip her wrist; she whipped round to behold the ugly face of a man, his eyes blackened and the side of his mouth bruised, he had several teeth missing and he snarled brutally at her,

"Give me all your coin little lady and I won't stick you like a pig."

With that, Eira gasped sharply as she felt the point of a concealed blade press up against her belly. Fright gripped her and she relented, reaching into her purse, the pickpocket eyed her feverishly and snapped, "Come on! Come on, you slut!" She held out the purse and he snatched it out of her hand, she flinched fearfully and he flashed his hideous grin and jerked his head, "And that pretty fur cloak – I want that an' all." Tears pricked her eyes and she began shirking off the garment when she heard a yelp; the man was dragged back and away from her, his eyes wide and confused.

"What in Seven Hells?!" He bellowed and Eira's watery eyes met with those of Benjen Stark's.

The younger brother of Lord Eddard Stark eyed her a moment, puzzlement on his face. He abandoned his bewilderment a minute and turned to the pickpocket he had just saved her from who was lying on the ground with the black-clad crow's boot standing on his jerkin, pinning him in place and said grandly,

"Another one for the Wall? Or should I just kill you now?"

Eira watched wide-eyed as the man spat at the Stark's black boots and nodded his head and gave his ascent. Benjen nodded and turned to the other black clothed men at his side and muttered quietly, "Clap him. Take him to the Wall." The men nodded and hauled the pickpocket to his feet, a small crowd had gathered to watch, they were parted as the pickpocket was led away, his hands bound. Eira hugged her mantle closer and felt sick. She was so shaken she didn't notice Benjen holding out her stolen coin purse out to her; he nodded and said;

"I am sorry for that, miss." Eira took the purse and asked, her voice breaking with adrenalin,

"Does that happen often here?" The crow nodded his dark head, "Aye. More than I'd care to say..." He trailed off, his voice dying in his throat as he looked at her closely; his dark eyes widened slightly and he gently gripped the girl's arm and pulled her aside, away from the still gawping crowd. Eira tried to twist out of his grasp but the man held her and drew her into an alcove of one of the little shops and demanded with muted conviction;

"What are you doing _here_, my Lady?"

**.*oOo*.**

Explaining to Benjen Stark the predicament which she found herself in was not what Eira had had planned for that day. No, it was definitely not and she found herself looking away from him as she sipped her small ale; aware that his sharp black eyes were on her at all times as she spoke.

It turned out that she did not have the same knack for lying to crows which Septa Brynhild possessed and Benjen had already guessed as much from one look at her belly when she shed her mantle as they sat down in a darkened corner of the tavern which was decorated with hay, blood and sawdust. The Man of The Watch sighed and scrubbed a hand down his long face at the end of her tale and beat his hand on the table,

"God's Bones! Sending you to Mole's Town...What was Medger thinking?!" He spat and Eira shook her head, her eyes downcast and Benjen softened and leaned forward, his voice losing its edge, "Do you know how dangerous it is this far north, girl?" Eira met his eyes; her own had a hard glint,

"I do _now_." He chuckled mirthlessly and bobbed his head, "Aye, I'll bet you do..."

He licked his lips as he thought, looking out over the drunken merchants and dead-eyed whores before he flicked his gaze back at her; such a stark contrast to the decaying mob of Mole's Town; it was no wonder that the pickpocket marked her as a target, she did not look common at all. She looked every inch the little Lady and Benjen exhaled. Eira thought the dark-haired man looked very tired and then she remembered.

"I heard about your nephew."

"Aye, he's young but it's his decision if he wants to join the Watch..." Benjen replied absently, still looking away.

"What?" Eira frowned and the Stark peered back and then he closed his eyes and nodded understanding. "Oh, you mean Bran. He's not going to die; Maester Luwin says the worst has passed. He'll be fine when he wakes up...Well, I hope he is. For Cat's sake." He added quietly, almost like a prayer and Eira's frown deepened.

"Who joined the Watch?" She didn't know why she asked, it was fairly obvious before Benjen even answered, "Jon. I don't blame him; no bastard was ever denied a place on the Wall...He's young, though. I tried to talk him out of it..." Again, his voice faded and he shook his head, sweeping his tankard away; his eyes flinty as though he were annoyed at her changing the subject and he hissed in a hushed voice,

"_Anyway_. You need to get your things, gather your horses and get back south. Mole's Town is no place for a Lady...Your father will take you back I'm sure."

"My _father_," Eira began with a bite in her tone, making the crow eye her.

"Thinks me a whore. A disgrace and a humiliation to his House. Mole's Town is perfect for one such as me...or one who is held in so high a regard, don't you think?" Her voice had an unsavoury bitterness laced within it and she thought she saw amusement twinkle in Benjen's eyes; she looked away, ashamed of her manners and mumbled sheepishly, "Forgive me, Master Stark...I-I just don't really know what to do."

"It's alright, little lady; but..." He leaned in further still and said seriously, "winter is coming, it's only gonna' get colder; you should take yourself someplace else. I can arrange someone to take you back south, to Winterfell maybe? Robb is Lord there while my brother is away; he can put you up...Catelyn could use the company. What, with Sansa and Arya gone away south with their father."

"No." Eira shook her fiery head. "My father may have lost all respect for me that is enough of a blow to my own honour; I won't disobey him on top of that. He bid me to leave and I did. I will stay." Benjen's eyes crawled down and rested on her loosely tied stomacher; they remained there as he said plaintively;

"You would raise your bastard here in Mole's Town...it is no life for a young mother and her child."

"If my bastard is a boy maybe my ambition will be for him on the Wall." She quipped bitterly and Benjen looked at her, "Nevertheless, I have made my choice...Thank you for intervening with that man, ser. I should be on my way. Septa Brynhild will be worrying."

She got up warily, her hand on her tummy and stepped around the table gingerly. Benjen stood too and held up her mantle for her and she thanked him, taking the garment and she flung it around her shoulders. She was about to sidle past him when he reached out and stopped her, "Wait. Wait..." He said as though a thought had struck him; Eira stopped and peered round; Benjen's face was creased in thought and he was silent a moment.

"If I can't get you to leave here...Then maybe there is something I can do."

"Like what?" Eira asked shortly, not unkindly and Benjen blew out a breath; the fur at his chest ruffling slightly.

"The Wall...is three hundred miles long and a lot of the castles up there are unmanned, but you could stay there. It's better than Mole's Town – if a little colder – but at least you wouldn't have to worry about pickpockets and tavern brawls..." He thought again, his brow positively furrowed and Eira felt her chest hurt.

She did _not_ want to stay in Mole's Town. It was like he was offering her a lifeline.

"If you were inconspicuous; quiet and left as soon as your bastard's born you could come back here...Eira, believe me when I say; Mole's Town is not an ideal place to even _raise_ a child, let alone bear one."

"But...wouldn't you get in trouble? What about the men? Aren't some of them...rapers?"

Benjen nodded, "Aye that is why you would have to be like a shadow. But it's better than Mole's Town by a league; you have a companion – you wouldn't be alone up there and I would feel better if you did."

The girl suddenly became suspicious and backed away cautiously, "Why do you care?"

"Because your father is a good friend of my brother's, one of his own bannermen and it would be shameful of me as man to let you rear a child here, girl." He replied simply and frankly; Eira's heart raced;

She knew there were a lot of castles up on the Wall...Could she move into one? She and Septa Brynhild did not need much space and if she had Benjen keeping an eye out for her, could it hurt to have a friend out here?

Eira couldn't argue, she could not do this alone and she nodded.

"Alright...I'll do it. I'll talk to Septa Brynhild."


	4. Winter Is Coming

Chapter Four

**.*oOo*.**

Eira's eyes were hooded as she scanned the note in her hand; her fingers trembling, but not from the cold which was ever-present in the Long Barrow. She shivered as she read her father's neat script; his elegant hand was unbroken, not scrawled in a fit of anger or disappointment but written with the collection and tranquillity which she had come to expect from Lord Medger. This hurt Eira beyond imagining, the note which had been sent from Winterfell bore the seal of her father and of her House; a black war axe on a field of silver, there was no mistaking that this note was from her father. She had kept it for some reason unbeknownst to herself; a small slither of sentimentality on her part the girl reckoned, but it was his lack of sentimentality which cut her deep.

_Go from our home, for you shame us all..._

A tear reluctantly escaped her eye which she hurriedly swept away with numb fingers, dashing her pain from her mind; she crumpled up the note in a burst of anger; how could he do this to her? His only daughter forsaken to him for one mistake...One misdemeanour. Eira sighed, there was no point pinning blame for it was pinned as prominently on her chest as the badge of the King's Hand was on Ned Stark's. Sooner or later he would come around and Eira would just need to endure. Endure the cold, the estrangement and the loneliness...Her heart was breaking but she had to remain vigilant if she was to survive. She rubbed her belly and thought; I must survive for you too, don't I?

"Eira?" The voice was Septa Brynhild and without turning, Eira acknowledged the septa's presence.

"What is that?" The old woman enquired softly, a shudder rattled her voice and Eira pressed the note into the folds of her cloak, hiding it and said, "Nothing. Have you drawn water so that I may bathe?"

The septa's face cracked into a patronizing smile, "I haven't." She answered and Eira felt her temper spike, "Why?" she demanded sharply and Septa Brynhild chuckled in her throat and stepped past the girl, stoking their small fire; which had to remain minute so that they could carry on lodging in the Long Barrow incognito without drawing suspicion from the Men of the Watch. "It is too cold to bathe, little _Lady_."

"But I want to!" She snapped, she felt horribly dirty and thought she smelled but the septa only chortled, "Well if you truly wish to bathe, might I suggest you get a rag, warm some water and wash as they do in Dorne."

Eira was appalled and she all but stamped her little foot, her face reddening at the septa's words.

"I am not _from_ Dorne! And I will not squat over a basin and wash myself like a barbarian."

"There really is nothing else I can propose," The septa said, spreading her hands as if it had very little to do with her; Eira's face was positively raging, "I want to wash, Septa!"

"You know where the basin is, Eira!"

"But I don't _want_ to wash that way!"

"Well then you will just have to reek then, shan't you?" The septa's temper frayed at the girl's petulant insolence and she indicated to the girl with a rag in her hand and nodded for her to go through to the freezing garderobe. Snatching the rag, Eira eyed it disgustedly and flicked her eyes over the septa who smiled pleasantly and softly before adding gently,

"Your supper shall be ready for when you're done. Now, off with you."

"Yes, Septa. Thank you, Septa." Eira sneered through gritted teeth and trudged into the garderobe to wash; shivering and cursing the vile old woman all the time as she did so.

Eira's thoughts were focused solely on washing herself but as she disrobed, the note from her father fluttered unceremoniously to the cold floor. Eira stopped dead and eyed the inconsequential bit of parchment, afraid to pluck it from the floor a moment but then she sighed and picked it up, crumpled and unremarkable, for some unknown reason Eira smoothed it out and folded it over before stowing it safely in the pocket of her mantle before she got on with the chore of washing herself awkwardly and quickly. The fog of tedium fell over Eira as she soaked the rag in warm lavender scented water; her consideration drifted back to her father and the last thing he had said to her before he left for Winterfell;

She had been sewing in her room when her father had entered her little solar, his eyes aflame and his breathing irregular. His nostrils flared, he jerked his head at her companions like they were dogs for them to get out and Eira watched them all flit out like an innocent flock of doves, leaving behind the one deceitful crow.

"You will not come to Winterfell." He stipulated, reserved almost; his head bowed.

Eira expected as much and nodded setting aside her sewing, taking a breath she got up and he shot her a look which told her to stay exactly where she was and she did; she sank back into her high-backed chair and waited for him to speak; but he merely paced around the room like an agitated lion, running a gnarled hand down his red beard; his blue eyes flinty,

"You will stay here until I decide what I will do with you..." He stopped; his voice fading.

It was so quiet, all they could hear was the rustle of the leaves on the trees outside; her window was thrown open to let in the crisp northern air and Eira felt a chill run down her spine locking eyes with her father whose wayward daughter had dishonoured him. Suddenly his explosive temper erupted, like that of a baited bear; he flung a jug of wine at the wall shattering the glass and spilling wine everywhere. Eira did not flinch, she knew her father would never hurt her but his rage was frightening nonetheless. It was as if he could not even look at her, his pale blue eyes always blazed and rested on her stomacher and she saw him gnash his teeth and growl,

"If your mother...If she..." Eira's spine stiffened. He looked at her and spat,

"You are a whore." With that he spun on his heel and left her alone, trembling after the swirl of his travelling cape.

It felt like ages before Eira stood up after hearing the Master of Horse saddle her father's gelding and her brother's roan. She went to the window, watching after them as they rode off with most of the household in their wake towards Winterfell which was half a mile ride away.

All that remained with her were the servants, the scullions and the stable lads; Eira felt the same rage which gripped her father, blood of her blood, they shared the same temper and she gripped the sides of the window embrasure until her fingers turned white and muttered to herself in the empty echoing chamber of her own loneliness, shaking with fury,

"I'm not a whore..."

She felt her face flush, her fingers hurt with the pressure she was applying to the wood of the window frame and she felt her blood rise in her anguished rage as she bellowed after them; mere specks in the distance, there was no way for her father to hear the hatred in her voice over the beat of his train's hooves,

"I am _not _a whore!"

Eira was brought back from her memory by a sharp rap on the door and Septa Brynhild's voice bidding her to hurry up before the girl froze to death; Eira rolled her eyes and opened the door to the garderobe a crack and asked if the septa could bring her a warm garment – which the old woman did, grudgingly.

"There was a visitor while you were washing."

"Oh?" Eira said as she smoothed back her hair and sat down at the table, her breath plumed out before her in a white cloud and she held her mantle closer, Septa Brynhild nodded, "Lord Stark's brother brought up a food parcel, he advises us to keep indoors and out of sight, keep fires doused unless necessary and he gave you this," Eira cocked an eyebrow as the septa held up a cage with an ugly black raven trapped within,

"A raven?" She said incredulous,

"So you can contact him. He says to use it only if it's urgent."

"Right." Eira nodded blandly.

The septa frowned slightly as she passed the girl a steaming bowl of soup, "Is everything alright?"

"Don't pretend that you care." Eira said quietly, not nastily but the septa's chest puffed at her words.

"Eira." She began harshly enough to make the girl look, "I do care. If there is anything I can do..."

"There isn't."

She said curtly and got up, scraping her chair's legs against the floor and left the septa to sup by herself.

**.*oOo*.**

When Benjen Stark had stated that life would be 'colder' on the Wall as opposed to Mole's Town, Eira had not realised the gravity of which he had meant. She realised now. Her teeth chattered constantly and her hands were always white with the cold; Septa Brynhild on the other hand seemed to take to the wintry bitterness like a gyrfalcon; completely unabashed by the temperature which nipped at Eira's toes and nose.

"I hate this cold." Eira complained as they sat sewing.

Endless sewing. Eira's sluggish fingers could barely thread a needle and she became frustrated easily with the finicky activity, throwing it aside she swore, "Seven Hells! I won't sew any more damnable garments!"

"And what will your child wear?" The septa pondered as she pulled the thread through easily. Eira glared.

"Ah, yes; nothing. You must make your child clothes; if you can't even do that you may as well leave it at the door of some shrine and hope for the best."

"That's vile!" Eira exclaimed, caressing her slightly bulging belly. "I would never..."

The septa's face was slightly amused as she placed her sewing to one side and eyed the girl up and down; "What say you, we abandon the sewing for the night and you can read to me?"

"Why would I read to you?" Eira said bitterly and the septa sighed, "You used to love reading to me."

The old woman's eyes became wistful as she recalled plaintively, "You used to read me stories of your own imagining when you were little. I remember when you were just a little girl, no more than five or six and you told me a story about a girl who went on a great journey; she fought dragons and married a beautiful golden king."

"Fanciful ramblings..." Eira snapped, but then softened. "I must have looked foolish, I fear."

"No, you never seemed foolish." The septa sighed sadly, "Just full of ambition for adventure and love; isn't that what every little girl is? It was when you grew older did you become foolish."

Eira ignored the woman, grateful for the septa's sentiments but hurt by them all the same; she peeped over and Septa Brynhild was appraising her quietly; Eira rolled her eyes and bit, "What story do you want to hear?" The septa brightened and sat back; "Hm, anything; something pleasant to warm the heart."

"Alright," Eira began, wracking her brains before her voice became mellow;

"Once upon a time, there was young woman – a girl of good birth and noble parentage. She was happy and had everything she could have ever wanted. The girl was denied nothing and became spoilt. She flirted with men and smiled, danced with them until they were near blinded with lust. Her father was equally as blinded by affection for her and did not realise that one of his knights had grown infatuated with the girl. The knight grew jealous of the attention she showered on the other men, and so he killed half a dozen of her father's best and most skilled knights. One night, the girl sat and wept, for her beloved was among the dead at the hands of the treacherous one; the knight sought her hand in marriage. She refused and he killed her father too, and so, the girl; with nothing more to lose, agreed to wed him and took the knight to her bed and knifed him in his sleep. Sleeping on the bloodstained sheets with a smile on her face, she kept his titles and houses, his castles and his gold. The child sired from the union wanted for nothing and she eventually found a good man to replace the one she had been robbed of. They lived happily ever after until the end of days..."

The septa's face was stoic listening to the tale and when Eira was finished her own expression was stony and her voice had become maudlin, "Is that pleasant enough for you, Septa?"

"Sweet child..." The septa breathed; there were tears in her eyes. "You have changed."

**.*oOo*.**

The nights were fleeting on the Wall, the days long. First light always woke Eira from her fur-nest of a bed; it was old, creaky and dusty but warm at least and she was at loath to leave it each day; it was only through Septa Brynhild's badgering did the girl drag herself from it. It was another cold day and Eira shivered bitterly cursing her whereabouts. I could have been in King's Landing right now she thought wistfully; then jealousy spiked an ugly little green-eyed worm in the core of the apple; I should be there! Her horrible thought process was stemmed by the septa's anxious chattering and Eira peeped round from where she had been sitting lamenting, absently running a hand over her small bump,

"What is it?"

"We're running low on food..." The septa fretted and Eira shrugged idly,

"Shall I write Benjen Stark? See what he can spare?"

Septa Brynhild nodded her head, "Yes, I think you should."

"It's strange, we haven't seen him in a se'nnight."

Eira sent the raven no more than ten minutes later; her eyes widening as she gazed out over the Wall and past it; what lay beyond the Wall? Forests, forests in abundance! Eira gasped, she was up so high and the cold air stole her breath, "Septa!" She hissed in the gale; "Look! Look down there, look how high we are!" The septa peered over the side and clutched her breast, "God's Bones! Come away from the edge, Eira!" The girl giggled at the septa's cowardice and closed her eyes enjoying the perilous heights and whooshing air.

"I could stay up here forever..." The girl whispered and Septa Brynhild pulled her away.

"You _will_ if you freeze to death. Come away."

They waited the whole day and still there was no raven returned from Benjen Stark to say he would bring the women supplies; Septa Brynhild was quiet, a groove between her brows, she was anxious which made Eira constantly look out of the window. "D'you think he'll come soon? You don't think we've been discovered..."

Panic surged, "Oh, Septa! What if he's been caught and they've thrown him off the Wall!"

"He'll be here, don't worry." The septa soothed but she did not sound convincing even to herself.

There was a bang, like the sound of boots connecting with wood and the septa stood nimbly and drew a small glass dagger from the pockets in her sleeves; the one she used to cut roots. "Go. Hide in the garderobe!" She pushed Eira back and the girl's eyes were wide with fear; shaking her head she whispered, "No! I won't leave you! It might be Benjen-"

"Eira! For the love of the Gods, Old and New; do as I say!"

The girl didn't get a chance to hide as the door to their little chamber swung open and in the threshold stood a massive man with a fair beard, a pair of piercing blue eyes; he stood two feet taller than the boys at his flanks. Eira stepped back as the septa held up the knife but the big man looked past her and glared directly at Eira and held up a note in his gloved hand; the red-headed girl recognised her scrawl which read 'Stark'. Eira swallowed and stepped past the septa, holding her swelling tummy gingerly; she curtsied demurely and looked up at the crow. There was a pause and a small yelp; Eira's eyes darted down and sniffing at her skirts was a huge stark-white wolfhound, the beast looked up at her like a juicy bone with blood-red eyes and Eira felt her stomach tighten.

This was bad.


End file.
